


Meant to Be

by Missy



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet, Closure, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Parenthood, Rock Stars, Rock and Roll, Surprise Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26869810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Several years after the conclusion of amythis' "Shoulda Been a Welder," Lenny is on the road with his new family, and he pulls off to dine at a Howard Johnsons.What - or more precisely, who - he finds there changes what he thought he knew about himself.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amythis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amythis/gifts).



> You ought to read amythis' fic [first!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690206)

When the bus finally pulled its way off the road with a shuddering sigh, Lenny let out a sigh of relief. 

They were almost home; tonight was the last gig before they flew back to LA, which meant he was on the cusp of being able to resume some semblance of normalcy after weeks of eating diner food and showering at hockey arenas. According to Squiggy’s typically sloppy schedule, they had enough time to grab lunch and do their laundry before driving down to the Arizona Veterans Memorial Coliseum and playing to a sold-out crowd of thirteen thousand people – just as many people as Elvis had sung to in the same place a few years before. Squiggy was the most excited of all – mostly because he had a price point on the concession stands - but for Lenny until he got on that stage it was just another day at the office.

“Hey, you sure you want a whole club sandwich?” he asked his wife, zipping his fly and fixing his hair in the little tinfoil mirror she’d pinned to the door. The queen bed was all theirs in this microscopic but private suite – Squiggy had his own on the other bus, where the rest of the band had bunks.

She squinted up at him as she fiddled with the little portable TV they’d brought along. “Are you kidding me? I’m starving. Make it a double stack, with fries and fudge ripple ice cream.” 

He eyeballed her suspiciously. She was on the tail end of a monster case of the flu, a weeklong nightmare that had filled her lungs and raised her temperature and caused a daylong stop at an emergency room outside of Dallas. Lenny had gotten his shot and had managed to make out with a mild case (and she mocked herself about that fact, for being so busy she forgot to get her yearly dose before going with him), and their little boy – who was traveling on Squiggy’s bus with his nanny until she was over this - had come through the situation unscathed. “I dunno.”

She sighed at his expression. “Len, when are you going to trust me when I say I’m fine?” It was true that her fever had broken somewhere outside of Utah, her headache leaving and her appetite returning. Her lungs and sinuses were unclogging at a rapid speed, and this morning she’d taken a very luxurious shower with him in the semi-privacy of a Tempe shower stall. Lenny had only suffered because she had suffered, which had made him suffer professionally - caused a series of lousy performances. Squiggy had railed at him over them until Lenny had grabbed him by the lapels and dangled him over the side of a crowd control barrier at the last arena until he backed off. He loved the little guy, but he hated being yelled at, and was finally getting better at giving back what he got from him.

“Fine, but you stay here,” he said. “I’m gonna go in with the guys and eat, then take the baby for a walk. I’ll bring your food back to you when I’m done.” 

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got an afternoon date with eleven guys in shoulderpads.”

He snorted. “Tell me what the score is when I get back.”

“Right, I’ll pay attention to the score,” she said, eyes glimmering. He kissed the top of her head before stepping into his shoes and heading outside.

It was hot outside, the atmosphere broiling under blue skies and little white clouds. It was arid enough to make steam rise in wavering lines off of the bus’ engine block. Lenny therefore rushed as he greeted everyone decamping from Squiggy’s bus before they headed into the nondescript Howard Johnsons.

To Lenny’s experience, restaurant managers loved rockstars, especially when they arrived with droves of people, and Lenny’s party of fifteen made the blue-shirted and balding man in charge of the place whistle as he insisted to the hostess on duty he could take over and walked them into the dining room. They were handed menus and he waited until everyone was seated before looking it over.

“Do you got anything that’s really greasy?” Lenny wondered.

“Hello,” Squiggy said, entering through the side door with an ascot and sunglasses on, looking all the more like a big shot agent. The baby was riding side-saddle on Squiggy’s hip, and Lenny reached for him automatically, tucking him onto his knee. 

“Here you go, kiddo. You want some Cheeri-os?” he asked. His son grinned and babbled, excitedly tugging at the hem of Lenny’s shirt. He pecked the boy between the eyes and let out a contented sigh.

After a few minutes, a waitress with a tall, graying stack of blonde hair arrived. “Hello,” she said, staring at her notepad. “My name is…”

“…Pia,” Lenny muttered under his breath. It was less her face – emaciated by years of hard times – that made the realization click for him, but her voice. That voice –screaming at him, laughing, giving steady instructions as she helped him fill snow angels with Kool Aid on the lawn of the children’s hospital - that, he would’ve known anywhere. 

Lenny’s jaw had dropped open, and instinctively he held his son a little closer to his chest.

“Right,” she said. Then she looked him in the eyes. Rattled for just a second, she took a breath and tapped her pencil against the notepad. “Would you like to order?”

“Two corned beef sandwiches, heavy on the slaw, “ Squiggy ordered. “Waffle fries with gold leaf on ‘em, and a chocolate milkshake, thick, pronto, toots.” He slapped her on the behind, and she replied by backhanding him. 

There was a commotion from the manager but Lenny stood up. “It’s my guy’s fault – don’t do anything to her.” Reassured, the manager left the room. “They don’t got gold leaf back there, Squig.” Lenny said, not needing to reprimand Squiggy for his behavior - he’d do it later.

“He’s right,” the waitress said. 

“Sez you!” Squiggy declared. Lenny rolled his eyes. “Fine, regular fries, I’ll eat like a pawprint,” Squiggy muttered. 

With a roll of the eyes, she went around the room, taking orders from Lenny’s bassist, drummer, rhythm guitarist, backup vocalists. The lighting tech. The nanny. The backup band. The stage manager. The tour manager. 

“What would you like Le-, uh, mister?” she asked. “Sorry. I’m a big fan. I like that song you wrote about the girl with the blonde curls who’s quiet and shy and…”

“…Know the rules. _Sweet Amy_ ,” Lenny said, half-singing the tune. The name of his first number one hit galvanized him into action. “Grilled cheese, with a bowl of tomato soup and a pickle, and a chocolate milk please.” Which was a comfort drink for him, but he frankly needed to be comforted at this point.

“What about your boy?” she asked, gathering menus.

“His name is…” Lenny began.

“I don’t need to know,” Pia said. She tapped the stack against the side of the table to straighten them. 

“He doesn’t have enough teeth for grown-up food yet. I’ll feed him with that jarred up stuff we have.” 

“I can do it, Mr. K,” said Elise Greenbaum, who’d come along on the tour both to get away from the drama of her parent’s divorce and to piss off her mother while making money for her first semester at college.

“Nah, it’s OK. You have the stuff in the bag?” 

She handed him the baby’s spoon and three jars of food. The kid was like his mother, like Lenny himself – had a hearty appetite. He sat the baby on the table, until Pia arrived with a booster seat and he slid him into place. Lenny automatically fed him, slurp by slurp, until each jar was empty.

Caught up in his kid’s happiness and safety, Lenny didn’t notice Squiggy’s confusion until the milkshakes and drinks had been delivered. “What got up your nose?” Squiggy asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Squig,” Lenny hissed, wiping the baby’s mouth, “how can you not tell that’s my ma?”

Squiggy paused, stuck out his jaw. “Huh.” Another beat. "Wait, I slapped your ma on the -?"

“Whaddya mean, huh?!” Lenny snapped. “She walked out on me years ago, and here she’s been this whole time!”

“Nothing. I just always thought she croaked, y’know? Like my mom did.”

Lenny sighed. “Yeah, well, I never knew for sure. There was always a chance I’d see her.”

“So whatt’re you gonna do about it?” 

Lenny reached into the baby bag and got his son’s sippy cup. He filled it with water, and let him go to town on it. “I’m gonna drink this chocolate milk and have my lunch. Then, when we’re done, I’m gonna order what Laverne wanted. It’ll gimmie a chance to be alone with her.”

“Right,” Squig said. “You don’t want me to hold her still so you can…?”

“No,” Lenny said. “I ain’t gonna punch her.” He liked to think that he was a decent guy – that he was a better husband and dad than that. 

So he sipped his milk down and felt it coat his stomach. When the sandwich came, it was crustless – exactly the way he liked it as a child. He put the whole thing in his soup and ate it together, saving the pickle spear for last. He watched his son doze sleepily and idly participated in the conversation echoing around the table.

It took him forever to work out what he wanted to say, but he did it. Then Lenny made sure Elise had his kid and everyone had been satisfied before heading off to give the order and pay the bill.

He caught her coming back to the table, standing in front of a hamper filled with dirty dishes. “Uh, can I get a take-out order? Club sandwich, double stack, with fries and a Pepsi and a big thing of fudge ripple ice cream.”

She nodded. “I’ll run that back to the kitchen…” He stopped her by stepping into her pathway.

He didn't flinch, Now he was the same height that she was, and it was easier to meet her gaze. “Gonna drop the act now?”

She flinched. “Whatever you’re looking for – and I dunno what you ever could be looking for – you’re not going to get it here.”

“Maybe I’m not looking for something,” he said. “I already worked it all out, y'know. For me. I’m seeing a guy now, and he lets me talk. I know enough that you didn’t hate me, and even if you do it don’t matter now.” He shook his head. “But I got some questions for you. I think it’d be fair for you to answer them.”

She turned from him, toward the kitchen. “One short with a stack of logs and a thick and creamy,” she said. Then she whirled toward Lenny. “What?”

“Why did you go? Was it me? Sofia? Did Helmut make you walk out?” The insecurity poured out of his mouth for a moment, like molasses, or honey. 

She shook her head. “You and your sister drove me crazy, but I didn’t leave because of you. I just had to go.” 

“Oh,” Lenny said flatly.

“It’s not as if you needed me,” she added. 

“Are you crazy?” he snapped. “I was five years old. I never wanted to leave you alone. Look, I know what it’s like when you wanna walk out on…”

“…I doubt it,” she said. “You ain’t never…”

“…Oh yeah? I’m not my wife’s first husband,” he explained. “She had three kids with him before we had our boy, and she loved the other guy she was with a lot. And me, I had to stand by and watch it and be happy, even though it felt like swallowing razor blades to look at them together. Then...everything changed, and when it did she came to me.  
Raising those kids – sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes. And I think of doing all the things you did to me when I get angry. But I don’t go and do it. I wouldn’t. I can’t leave them, and I love them. But being a parent’s hard. If you didn’t want to do it in the first place, I get why you got mad. But...I treat 'em all the same. All four of them.”

She stared straight ahead, eyes on the kitchen. 

“Anyway. I’ll wait for the food.” She rattled plates and waited for the bag to emerge over the counter. “You know. You didn’t want to know what my son’s name is,” Lenny said. “But I gotta tell you anyway.” Maybe she already knew. Maybe she'd seen the People Magazine spread, or the birth announcement on Entertainment Tonight, and this was no bombshell but old news. 

She turned from him, an impassable mountain. “What? Spit it out,” she said.

“Casimir,” he said. The plate she’d been holding fell to the counter from her slippery fingers and shattered, confirming that she didn't know. _Casimir._ Her father’s name. “My mom,” he explained, as if she hadn’t stumbled so egregiously, “when she wasn’t passed out drunk or trying to make it with my best friend’s old man or trying to hit me in the face…she used to make snow angels with me, and we’d pour Kool-Aid into ‘em, and we’d drink it. And then we’d come inside, and she used to tell me how much she loved her parents, what they were like, who they were. And I always liked that name. Casimir.” Lenny. “So we call him Cass, though my wife calls him Joe sometimes. That’s his middle name, Joseph. After her mother.”

When she turned around with the bag of food in her hand, her jaw was quivering. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, though he didn't consider it a bow to her - more like a bow to tradition - and he really had always loved the name. He paused at the register to pay off his debts before running outside. But she could think what she wanted.

He took a deep breath, standing in front of that Howard Johnsons, to still his quavering stomach and shaking hands. He wouldn’t break down. He couldn’t. Steeling himself, Lenny walked to his bus and climbed inside. 

Laverne was on the bed, yelling invective at the Bucc’s kicker while painting her toenails fire-engine red. She looked up and smiled when he saw him – and her food.

“Great, I’m starving,” she said. But he placed the food on the side table and dove into bed, not caring that he might upset her pot of polish – kissing her frantically, from her kneecaps to her chin. Laverne looked confused when he pecked her lips. “Len, whatt’re you doing? I…”

“I love you,” he said, with an intensity he hadn’t used in years.

“Yeah, but what – “

“I love OUR family,” he said. She paused, knowing it was serious. Lenny was always careful to include Laverne’s kids with Mike into their circle; was always careful to let her and them know how much he loved them. When Mike had died in that plane crash, flying to Florida to go to Disney World with his family, Laverne had lost herself, gone out of her mind with grief. But Lenny had been patient enough to ride it all out – and patient enough to charm her three kids into loving him, too.

“I love you too. But what happened in there?”

They had no secrets, not since they’d gotten together. So Lenny told her everything as they drove to the arena.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t nicer,” Laverne said.

“She was as nice as she could be,” Lenny said. He sighed. “Well, we don’t got anywhere to be for awhile. Let’s finish the game and split the ice cream.”

“Not if I beat you to it,” Laverne grinned, punching his shoulder and kissing his cheek.

Lenny smiled.

In spite of everything, he was where he belonged.

*** 

Pia turned over the receipt she’d gotten from her son’s meal. It took her three tries to decipher his serial killer handwriting, scribbled on the margin. 

“My number. If u knead me, cawl.”

She crumpled the receipt up and stuffed it into her pocket. She wasn’t a Donna Reed – she’d never be a grandma baking cookies in the kitchen. But it was nice to know she’d be remembered.

Nice to know that if she needed someone, for some reason there would be someone there for her.


End file.
